That's w'y I put the question I did.
I'm not goin' to let no man give sorry to that little Roussillon gal; an' so ye've got my say.

Ye seed her raise thet flag on the fort, Lieutenant Beverley, an' ye seed her take it down an' git away wi' it.
You know 'at she deserves nothin' but the best; an' by the Holy Virgin, she's got to have it, or I'm a goin' to know several reasons why.
Thet's what made me put the question straight to ye, young man, an' I expects a straight answer." Beverley's face paled; but not with anger.

He grasped one of Oncle Jazon's greasy hands and gave it such a squeeze that the old fellow grimaced painfully.
"Thank you, Oncle Jazon, thank you!" he said, with a peculiar husky burr in his voice.

"Alice will never suffer if I can help it.

Let the subject drop now, my friend, until we have saved her from the hands of Hamilton." In the power of his emotion he continued to grip the old man's hand with increasing severity of pressure.
"Ventrebleu! let go! Needn't smash a feller's fingers 'bout it!" screeched Oncle Jazon.